Mission Inn-possible 03 - Cocoa Conviction

by Rosie A. Point

  “Spending time apart,” Lauren said, and her lips turned down at the corners. I half-expected her to burst into tears. “Oh, Charlie, I’m so sorry. That’s terrible.”

  “It’s fine,” I said. “I’m fine. Really.”

  But Lauren insisted on scooting her chair closer to mine and slinging an arm over my shoulder. “I can’t believe he would do that. Even if he is going on a date, there’s no reason for him to come in here and tell you that to your face.”

  “Yes,” Gamma said, “no reason at all.” Her words were laden with hidden meaning.

  There had to be a reason he had gone, but I, strangely, wasn’t interested in finding out what it was. He could tell me tomorrow. I didn’t want to think about Smulder and Nicole for the rest of the night.

  There were more important things to worry about.

  24

  “If you think I’m going to feed you a late night snack, you’re mistaken.” I sat in bed, under the covers, my new laptop—courtesy of the NSIB giving me a stipend for my time undercover—on my lap, and Cocoa Puff sitting at the end of my bed.

  He meowed at me then kneaded the duvet next to ankles, his yellow eyes fixed on me, narrowing with pleasure. His purrs filled the room.

  “I enjoy your company, Cocoa, but we can’t keep doing this. We’ll get fat. Besides, I had a full meal—tri-tip steak—and you had your wet food,” I said, scolding him because he knew I couldn’t resist his kitty purrs and stares.

  I returned my focus to my laptop screen and the search I had open. Sleep had, once again, evaded me, and I doubted any amount of warm milk would help with that. It was the murders of both Bob and Leanne keeping me awake.

  My fingers hovered over the keys and I typed in the first name on my mind: Trinity Malone.

  The results popped up, and I scanned them. The first few were random social media profile results, but a headline near the bottom of the page caught my attention.

  Trinity Grace (nee Malone) has already remarried! Family of dead husband open civil lawsuit.

  “What on earth?” I clicked on the link.

  —taken the decision to sue Trinity Grace (now Malone) for gross negligence in civil court. The death of Carl Grace, 55-years-old, occurred last August in his home in Colorado Springs under what the family deems as suspicious circumstances.

  “Carl wasn’t the type of man who took medication like that. He wouldn’t just… take that many pills.” Carl’s brother, Frank, told the Journal. “I firmly believe that Trinity had something to do with it.”

  The family is claiming that law enforcement did a shoddy job of collecting evidence, and that the pills that Carl had taken weren’t even his. Trinity, who has already remarried, was unavailable for comment.

  My eyes nearly bugged out of my head.

  Trinity was involved in a previous murder case. Or a case of suspicious death, at least. Had the family of this ex-husband of hers won the civil lawsuit? The article was dated back in 2011. That had given Trinity plenty of time to have little Chrissy and move on with her life.

  I searched for records of Carl Grace’s case, but it looked like it had been ruled suicide by the police. Open and shut. There were petitions and social media groups demanding that his case be reopened and that Trinity be investigated.

  Either she’d done it and gotten away with it, or she hadn’t done it and was now dealing with a whole bunch of online heat.

  I wasn’t making excuses for the woman, but no wonder she was so suspicious. The fact that people had been murdered around her had to bring back unpleasant memories. And it explained why she was so paranoid about people being out to get her.

  That or she was paranoid because she actually had done something to both Bob and Leanne.

  I tapped on my keys again, without typing anything out, just idly enjoying the soft click of them under my fingers. “What did you do Trinity? Where are you rings?”

  It was too late at night to call Detective Crowley just to check whether he had told Trinity she could leave, so I looked up Gracie Bolton instead. There was just about nothing regarding her online. She was just a sweet, pink-haired grandma. Hold the sweet when it came to Bob.

  Kieran McIver came next. He was a registered nurse as expected, and he had a social media profile that was packed with happy photos of him and Gracie, some of them at the inn. There were a few with friends of his too. He seemed like a normal enough guy. His older pictures didn’t have Gracie in them, though, and there were a few of him in what looked like police academy uniform.

  Had he been in law enforcement?

  I shifted the laptop aside and got out of bed, pacing back and forth to allow myself space to think.

  If he’d been in law enforcement, did that mean he had access to a gun? Or that he knew how to shoot a gun? Or was this just a case of coincidence and a very cleverly done Halloween costume? I marched over to the window, drew the curtains back and let some cool air into the room.

  It was quiet outside, apart from the odd chirping of a cricket or the running of water, and the light from my window played across the lawn and illuminated the greenhouse.

  “What do we have?”

  Rings. Strangulation. A gun. A dead Easter bunny. An old woman with pink hair and her nurse. Another woman who might’ve been on the run from internet trolls.

  What a week.

  A figure appeared between the trees, heading across the garden toward the side of the inn—the kitchen door. I caught sight of the side of their face, and my stomach flip-turned and dipped.

  Smulder was back.

  It was past 11 pm for heaven’s sake. Whatever. I wasn’t his babysitter. But Special Agent in Charge Grant wouldn’t be happy about this.

  I backed away from the window before Smulder spotted me and sat down on the end of my bed. Cocoa immediately got up and came over. He bumped his head against my arm, insistently, and I gave him the ear rubs he wanted.

  “Like I said, Cocoa. We can’t go get something to eat. We’ll get fat. And if we’re fat, we won’t be able to chase down bad guys.”

  He purred and meowed, softly.

  “What do you mean you don’t chase down bad guys? You’re an integral part of every investigation. Not that there are that many investigations, but you know what I mean.” The creak of the stairs out in the hall silenced me.

  Smulder stayed in the room next-door to mine—Gamma’s attempt at matchmaking—and I didn’t feel like talking to him now. He’d thoroughly annoyed me by keeping me out of the loop. Once again, I wasn’t his babysitter, but we were partners while we were here, whether he liked it or not, and if he thought that compromising our—

  A soft knock came at the door.

  Cocoa’s purring stopped. My hand went still on his head.

  Another knock, and then, “Charlotte? Are you awake?” It was Smulder. Come to apologize? Come to explain?

  I rolled my eyes. Go away, Brian.

  Was it just the fact that he’d left me in the dark and made me look like a fool in front of Lauren that had gotten to me? Or was it more than that?

  There was a thought I didn’t particularly want to unpack at this time of night.

  Smulder didn’t knock again, and the gentle creak of floorboards told me he’d retreated to his room. A door clicked a second later, and I let out a breath. That was fine. We had to meet tomorrow morning in the library for a catch-up with Grant, anyway. He could talk to me then.

  “There,” I said, and resumed my stroking. Cocoa took a second to get back to his purring and head-butting. “He’s gone. Now, where were we? Ah, yes, the case of the pink-hair granny killer. Or the ring-bearing murderess. Who do you think it was, Cocoa?”

  25

  “Have you seen Brian this morning?” Lauren asked.

  I stopped slicing tomatoes and rested the end of the knife on the chopping board. “No, why?”

  “It’s just strange. He’s usually out at the greenhouse at this time of the morning, and he’s not.” She wiped her hands on her apron a
nd pointed out of the kitchen window. “See? The greenhouse is still locked up tight.”

  I put down my knife and walked over, peeking past her shoulder. She was right. The padlock was still firmly in place on the greenhouse’s door, and Smulder’s gardening boots sat next to the entrance where he placed them every evening after he finished work.

  He hadn’t come in to grab a snack before he set off, either.

  “I should check on him,” I said.

  Lauren wriggled her nose. Likely, she was still hung up on the way Smulder had behave the night before. “Yeah,” she said, finally. “I can take care of the rest. All I have to do is plate up, now.”

  The guests, including the Malones—surprisingly, they hadn’t left town yet—were all gathered out in the dining area awaiting their breakfasts. “Are you sure?” I asked. “That’s a lot of work to do on your own.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find him upstairs and be back in a second.”

  “Sure.” But worry stirred in my stomach.

  I was meant to have a meeting in the library with Smulder—after breakfast, we were due to chat with Special Agent in Charge Grant. It wasn’t like Brian to sleep late or shirk his duties around the inn. I got the feeling that doing them helped keep him sane. He liked being busy, just like I liked sticking my nose where it didn’t belong.

  I dried my hands on a dishtowel then hurried out of the kitchen and up the stairs to the first floor landing. All was silent up here, apart from the odd creak from the old wood in the inn. The rumble of chatter and the clink of glasses traveled from downstairs—a warm sound that should’ve comforted me, but didn’t.

  Brian’s room was next to mine near the end of the hall. I knocked once and the door swung open beneath my fist.

  The bed was empty, the covers neatly made. The window was closed, curtains open, allowing light to spill into the room. The chair in front of the desk had been tipped over, and the mirror on the wall was shattered, as if something, or someone, had been thrown against it.

  And the smell of roses, sickly sweet, drifted on the air.

  “Brian,” I said. “Brian?” Just in case he had been shoved in a closet or tied up under the bed. Just in case. My heart thrummed against my ribcage. I couldn’t make sense of my thoughts or the heat flooding my extremities.

  I dropped onto all fours and checked under the bed. Nothing. Empty. I was up and in front of the closet in seconds. That was empty too. A glance outside told me he hadn’t gone that way. He had to have been taken out of the room through its only entrance. And that led out into the hall, where I’d come from.

  But how?

  Smulder was an agent. He wouldn’t be so easily taken down by some two-bit criminal or vengeful murderer. And he hadn’t done anything to deserve this.

  Stop getting emotional. Think clearly.

  I stepped back into the hall, not touching anything, and scanned it for signs of disturbance. The end of the hall rug had been kicked up at one corner, but other than that, there wasn’t any sign of which way he’d gone.

  Window!

  I headed to the window at the far-end of the hall, the same one I’d first climbed through upon arriving in Gossip, and checked its latches. Firmly closed. I unlocked it and opened it, then leaned out. There was no damage to the trellis or footsteps in the flowerbeds below.

  He had to have been taken through the inn. And that meant he’d probably left through the front door.

  But when? How?

  What was going on here?

  “Charlotte?” Gamma came striding down the hall toward me. “Charlotte, have you seen Brian?”

  “He’s been taken,” I said. “I don’t know how or by who, but he’s gone.”

  It was the first time I’d seen my grandmother properly shocked.

  I’D HAD to contact Special Agent in Charge Grant with my phone—a burner that I’d have to get rid of after this. Half of the point of having Smulder here was that there were never any outgoing calls from me to the NSIB. No link to the agency, and thus no proof for my ex, Kyle, to latch onto and use to find me.

  I sat in the library, my palms sweaty and my grandmother standing quietly near the bookcases, her face completely relaxed, now. She had taken in the information that our covers might be compromised with calm collection, after the initial shock.

  “How much longer?” I asked, lifting my arm and checking the cutesy pink watch that had been packed for me. “Five minutes.”

  “You’ve answered your own question five times in the last two minutes,” Gamma said. “Take a breath, Charlotte. Brian is trained for this.”

  That was true. He wouldn’t crack under pressure. Not that I was sure he was under any type of pressure. Shoot, I wasn’t even sure who had taken him. Was it the murderer? Surely not. Unless the murderer was highly trained and skilled, and if that was the case, it opened up a whole new can of worms.

  But what if it wasn’t the murderer?

  What if it was Kyle? What if he’d finally caught up with me and this was his way of toying with me and proving that he could find me no matter where I was. A memory of him came back, an afternoon out in the sun in the weeks preceding my discovery of who he really was… him smiling at me, a vicious little smile, one that mocked me for not knowing, for believing he was just another agent. A good guy.

  “You’re going to remember today,” he said. “And every day you spend with me for the rest of your life.”

  “Of course, I will.” I looped my arm around his waist, and the uncertainty set in. The questions. Where had he been last night. The night before that? “I love you.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  I shuddered and rubbed my arms.

  “Charlotte?”

  I looked up and met Gamma’s gaze.

  “You’ll be fine,” she said, and her crystal blue eyes were filled with such certainty and goodness, that they banished my fears and the memories of my ex-husband. How many months ago had that been? Over six now.

  “I’ll be fine,” I repeated.

  My phone rang, and I answered it, lifting it to my ear. The Bluetooth headphones that we’d used for these meetings had gone missing with Smulder.

  “Miss Smith,” Special Agent in Charge Grant said, using my cover name.

  “Hi grandpa, how are you?”

  “You haven’t found any evidence indicating where he might’ve been taken?”

  “No, grandpa, of course not. I wish it was that simple,” I replied. “Did you hear anything about Cousin Bradley?”

  “No ransom demands yet,” Grant said. “Listen very carefully to me, Smith. You’re going to have to proceed with the utmost caution. I suggest you employ the services of your… friend, Georgina Franklin. She’ll be able to help you.”

  “I was just thinking the same thing.” I met Gamma’s gaze and nodded.

  Grant inhaled, slowly, as if bracing himself for whatever would come next. “We believe it might be the Ukrainians. A fringe organization named NESPOLITYKA. We have Intel indicating some of their agents have been on the move and may have entered the United States two weeks ago.”

  “Two weeks is a long time, grandpa.”

  “It was need-to-know information,” Grant replied, gruffly. “We weren’t sure it had anything to do with you. Needless to say, the players are interested. You have to be cautious, Smith. If they’ve taken Smulder, they’re capable of overwhelming you and your friend, Miss Franklin. It’s best if you wait for them to make the first move.”

  “I’ve already had a midday nap,” I said, forcing a fake laugh.

  “You’ll do as you’re told and sit tight. Understand?”

  “Whatever you say, grandpa.” I’d probably get in trouble for that later, but I didn’t care.

  “Take care, Smith. Report anything suspicious.”

  “Bye!” I hung up with a vicious stab of my thumb. I snapped the flip phone shut and tossed it onto the coffee table, trying not to rage.

  “I take it your grandfather doesn’t want you to get inv
olved.”

  “Not even a little bit,” I said.

  Gamma tapped a finger on her chin. Her eyes had taken on a sparkle I knew all too well. “Meet me in the basement in fifteen minutes,” she whispered.

  26

  My grandmother’s secret armory was hidden behind two layers of protection. First the external basement doors which were painted in bright images of smiling toadstools and mushrooms, and second, a heavy door secreted behind an array of furniture that hid it from view.

  I’d already made it past the first obstacle and closed it behind me in case Jessie Belle-Blue decided to drop by and get curious. I proceeded to knock out a rhythm on the second door then waited patiently.

  A minute passed.

  The latch clicked on the other side and I was admitted to my grandmother’s secret headquarters. Her base of operations for all things… well, I wasn’t even sure what she used this place for when she wasn’t solving murders with me or trying to figure out what had happened to missing agents.

  My palms grew moist at the thought of Smulder in danger.

  He can handle himself. He’s trained for this.

  One thing was for sure, Smulder wouldn’t crack under pressure.

  But was that really true? He’d done plenty of things that were out of character over the course of the last few days. What if he’d gone soft or…?

  “I think we have our first lead,” Gamma said, snapping the door shut and cutting off my negative choo-choo train of thought.

  “We do?”

  “Of course.” Gamma clapped her hands, and the fluorescent lights in her underground armory ticked on, revealing the rows upon rows of shelves and equipment. A touch of a button on the wall revealed hidden compartments filled with weapons including an RPG, and she’d added another two mannequins carrying armor that varied in utility.

  Gamma walked over to her desk and sat down. She hit a button and a compartment raised from within, presenting her with a flat computer screen.

  “When did you have that installed?” I asked. “And how?”

  “I’ve got a contact in the Dallas,” she said. “He was here a couple weeks ago when the construction was ongoing. Slipped in and out without anyone noticing.”